


Simple

by pally (palliris)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Soldier Enhancement Program
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palliris/pseuds/pally
Summary: The Soldier Enhancement Program was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to Jack.





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gizah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizah/gifts).



> i had fun w this !!!!!!!!! tbh hadnt thought of writing them in SEP, but it was a nice experience ::3cc hope u enjoy ! (srry its so short, lol) (i couldve made this, like, another thousand words longer but it wouldve mainly been abt them when they were old and sad)

They first meet when Jack still has fire in his eyes, and Gabriel’s has just gone out. Jack doesn’t exactly know what to expect out of the Serum Enhancement Program, but it both meets and fails his expectations.

Meets, because he’s given the attention he always wanted, the attention he always thought he deserved. Fails, because it’s putting a loaded gun into his hands; the hands of a what equates to a mere child. He doesn’t realize this until he’s unpacked his bags and is prepping to undergo the first transaction, but he does.

It sucks.

And sure, Jack’s proficient with a gun. Hell, one could claim that to be the reason he was picked for the program. They wouldn’t be wrong, but they also wouldn’t necessarily be right, either.

Jack was picked for his stature. His build. His leadership qualifications. Had even wrote an essay on the topic just to get it, and even though it wasn’t any point past decent, Jack _still_ got in.

_A miracle,_ his mother would have said. Jack wants to ask her from the grave if she, too, thinks that the program fails his expectations too much. Maybe she might have given him a better path to follow; but right now, this is all Jack has.

He has his expectations, for starters, broken and battered as they may be.

(And in the case of Gabriel, _boy_ does he exceed them.)

 

* * *

 

Jack’s a military boy, through and through.

He’s used to waking up at the crack of dawn, training until his scabs grow scabs, and eating less for the meal and more for the energy it’ll give him for the rest of the day. Jack knows how to push himself; to get the most of his body.

What he’s not used to is sitting around, doing nothing. Because that’s exactly what he does. For three days straight.

_Bedrest,_ as a medic had called it, dressed up in his bumbly, white robes and a quirk in his aging smile. It hadn’t done anything to put Jack’s mind at rest, as he’s all too familiar with the brand of casual pause doctors tend to give in the fact of worried patients.

Not that Jack’s _worried,_ persay-

More just a subtle mix of curiosity and a brief hint of fear.

He hasn’t met Gabriel by the time they inject him for the first time, but he remembers a dark smile and warm eyes that help him through the wave of pain that ensues. Jack finds out later that Gabe’s already been there for two weeks, that he knows what Jack’s going through, that he can _help_ and it won’t be stilted or awkward because it’s _genuine._

He knows what pity is. Jack sees it in the eyes of less tempered medics and bystanders who don’t know what it’s like to grow up a small farm boy and come out of their teenage years a cold, hard killer. Jack’s 23, now, and weaker than he’s ever been to the pain, to the stares.

The toxins that coarse blue-black through his veins feel less like power and more like poison. It’s a hard first day, and Jack almost sobs in relief when it’s over. As he tosses and turns in the scratchy sheets, Jack thinks about the warm hand that gripped his shoulders when he tried to get out of bed. Thinks about the roughing of stubble against his neck when he’s pushed back down. The carrying voice that rumbled through his companion’s chest and into his own, settling down like it was _home._

Jack thinks that this first period of time is why he becomes so immediately attached, because, well-

Jack chokes a cough out the first time he’s cognizant and his throat doesn’t feel so raspy.

“Doing good there, soldier?” Jack hears someone say beside him, equal parts amused and concerned. “Don’t want you to go out on me, and Doctor Crim’s got a mean right hook.”

It takes a moment for Jack to refocus his vision, but he takes note of the stocky man at his side. He’s got his chin perched in his hand, and even though there’s a pronounced slouch to his posture, he looks positively regal. There’s a depth of his mouth that Jack wants to explore.

“Fuck off,” Jack groans out, because he’s never been good at communicating. “How long…?”

“‘Bout 20 hours,” the man answers, swiping his tongue over his teeth. It’s vaguely distracting, especially when the inside of his own mouth feels like sawdust.

Everything seems to go alright, but then Jack starts to sit up and his head is spinning and spinning and he’s never been more sick in his life.

He pitches over the side of the bed and throws up whatever liquid content may still be in his stomach. Which, coincidentally, happens to be where the man’s bare feet are resting, crossed over one another comfortably. Jack hears a yell, but he can’t really be bothered when he’s too busy wiping a bit of blood off of his chin.

And that’s how Jack meets Gabriel Reyes.

(It won’t be the last meeting they have, nor the worst.)

 

* * *

 

The pain comes and goes. When it isn’t too bad, he’ll swallow the grimace on his face and knock back a pill. Other times, though, Jack will cave to his own needs and seek out Gabe.

They didn’t do this, at first. Gabe was wary of touch, and Jack even more so.

“Good?” Jack murmurs, pressing his palm into the concave between Gabe’s shoulder blades. There’s a terrible sense of desire that comes from seeing the sweat collect between his friend’s body masses.

Gabriel just makes a low, please noise, and rubs his face into Jack’s bedsheets. The man’s a terrible, terrible tease, and Jack’s fairly certain Gabe knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. But as it stands, Jack is Jack and nothing will ever change that.

He’s always been more of a coward than he could stand.

“Always good,” Gabe says, face smashed into the pillow he drags from further up. Jack scratches at the back of his head in dull embarrassment. A bit of mortification.

_Just a farm boy,_ Jack thinks, and clears away the thoughts that arise. He doesn’t think his mom would be proud of this side of Jack, either. Not the raging boner he’s been holding for Gabriel Reyes, but rather his inability to act on anything.

She was always more about taking and taking and taking, and sometimes that had hurt Jack, but it mostly made him stronger for it.

So Jack just gives Gabe a massage, digging and prodding the dark skin with a careful reverence that makes his mouth water. And he knows that later, Gabe’ll return the favor so they can both lay there in the glow of it, rapidly growing limbs and muscles relaxed and drained of tension.

Because the program doesn’t just drain your body. Jack finds that he’s more prone to mental exhaustion than anything, so he certainly isn’t saying no to a good hour of peace and quiet next to one of the only people who really gets him.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

(But Jack’ll be damned if he won’t indulge where he can.)

 

* * *

 

They start a thing.

Except it’s not really even a thing, because Jack had rubbed his fingertips over Gabe’s still-growing beard in absolute fondness and Gabe had responded by clasping the back of Jack’s neck with his oh-so-warm hand.

There’s an undercurrent of tension just below the surface, but Jack thinks that if they both ignore it hard enough it’ll go away. But even that thought is a scary thing, because if Jack loses his feelings to the enhancements he doesn’t know what’ll be left of him.

Sometimes Jack doesn’t even know who he’s looking at when he peers in the mirror. It’s _him,_ of course, but not. A grossly amped up version of himself, maybe, combined with a slow, aching trench of exhaustion that never seems to stop. Not even when he’s with Gabe.

As much as being with Gabe seems to help, it doesn’t exactly _fix_ him. And maybe that would be worse, because if Jack fills the void inside of himself, he doesn’t think that he would be quite human anymore.

He brings it up to Gabe once. Just once.

“So you don’t think steroids’ll fill you up? Can’t get enough?” Gabe laughs, but there’s a sickly edge of desperation that scares him.

They’re still just those boys at the end of the day; the farm boy and the city boy, and there’s nothing they can do to change their past. But they can change the future, mold it into something less distasteful.

On the surface, they project the notion to their executives that the Soldier Enhancement Project was the best thing to happen in the midst of political and social turmoil. Even if the program is highly secretive and remains a secret to the public, the ball is rolling, and people notice.

Jack doesn’t think he wants to be there when it stops.

(But he is; except it _doesn’t_ cease. It just keeps rolling, and rolling, and _rolling-)_

 

* * *

 

Jack kisses Gabe in the snow.

It’s January in the dead of night, and Gabe’s a dark, ethereal figure amidst the soft, yellow light from the decaying lamppost and harsh snowfall.

_A grim reaper,_ Jack thinks, tucking his scarf around his mouth again and huffing out a small laugh that’s drowned out by the howling wind. Jack doesn’t really want to look at Gabe’s face, so he doesn’t.

He _does_ hear the small _“Ha!”_ from behind him, though, so he just walks quicker back to base. Gabe doesn’t actually say anything about it; at least, not until they’re out of possible wandering eyes and in Jack’s quarters.

They don’t do anything. The two just-

(Lay there, face to face on the bed, and feel as small in the world as they should.)


End file.
